Category Archives: writing

Welcome to Wednesday Words! Every Wednesday I will post some sort of prompt for a flash fiction piece. The prompt will go live just after midnight Eastern time.

The prompt might be a picture, or it might be a list of things to include in a story, or maybe a phrase or a question or something from a “news of the weird” type thing, or a… who knows?

After that, it’s up to you. But if you do use the prompt to write a bit of flash fiction (say, 500 words or so) I’d love to see what you came up with, so comment below with a link to where it is on your blog (or on WattPad or wherever).

(And a pingback to the post here where you found the prompt would be appreciated but isn’t necessary.)

Oh, and this isn’t a contest or anything. It’s just a (hopefully) fun thing for all concerned.

Well, I did it. I had two Swap Bot packets that had to go out today and I took them to the post office this morning. The next ones I’ve signed up for don’t have to be mailed until next Monday, so I have time to clean up my mess from this last batch (one thing about writing, it’s not nearly as messy as other crafts!) and to take my time working on the next ones (an artist trading card and a pair of bookmarks).

And maybe even be able to focus on writing.

Actual writing, as in putting words on paper (or in a Word doc). My mind is always on writing, and it’s been working overtime these last few days. Unfortunately, it hasn’t been focusing on the story that it needs to focus on. In fact, it’s not even thinking about any of the more pressing writing projects in my life.

Nope.

Instead, it’s been fixated on when a character should first put in an appearance in Sea Witch (working title only), arguing over having her show up first in the hospital or the court room.

Not very productive.

But it’s Monday, and one of the writing groups I’m on Face Book always has a post on Monday to set your goal for the week. So mine is to finish that blasted scene I’m trying to add to Onyx Sun.

Next week it’s going to be a follow up scene to this one – one that will segue into another already written extra scene that I need to work into the story.

So.

Weekly goal. No word count, just… write the scene. Finish it. Even if it’s just bare bones, finish it. It can be fleshed out later.

More from Song and Sword, the first novel I published, since I’m working on a sequel and need the motivation. This follows immediately after last week’s snippet.

Continuing from last week.

“Yes,” the voice purred from behind him as the Orcs tied her in a position similar to his. “Your little lady love. She was the perfect bait.”

Dakkas tried to turn to see who was speaking, but a sudden cry snapped his head back toward Kashrya and he watched helplessly as one drew back his arm to strike her again.

“Stop it! Let her go. You have me, now let her go.”

“Ah, but I want both of you,” the voice said. “It will be so much more fun to watch you suffer her torment.”

Dakkas was forced to watch as the Orcs struck her, again and again, until he was sure that she could not take any more, and tears streamed down his face. It was his fault that she was here, his fault that she was being subjected to this.

“They’re not going to kill her,” the voice assured him through her sobs of pain. “Tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, or maybe next week, they will be enjoying her in other ways.”

Dakkas felt sick at what the voice implied and shook his head in denial. “No,” he moaned. “Please. Let her go.”

Blurb:Pashevel: a simple Elven Bard — and the Crown Prince

Marlia: a Paladin of Arithen, the Elven God of Justice – seeking vengeance for the destruction of her village

Dakkas: heir to the Drow throne — if his father and elder half-brother don’t kill him first

Kashrya: raised among a tribe of nomadic Humans, she is unaware of her true heritage — or of the prophecy that made her mother an outcast

Their goal: build a bridge between the Elves and their outcast brethren, the Drow, reuniting them and undoing the damage caused in a time so far gone that history has become legend and legend has become myth.

But first, they have a problem to solve: how do you stop a war that hasn’t started?

Rainbow Snippets is a group for LGBTQ+ authors, bloggers, and readers to gather once a week and share six sentences from a work of fiction–a WIP or a finished work or even a 6-sentence book recommendation (no spoilers please!). Check out all the other awesome snippets by clicking on the picture above.

Picking up from last week. Ayess thinks he has found the source of the strange random energy flux and ni and Taliya are on their way to the cryo chambers.

“Even empty they will draw some power. Just enough to maintain their circuits and the integrity of the field. But for some reason, one of them is drawing more than it should, but not all the time.” Ni frowned. “It’s actually drawing more than it should even if it was in use.”

“Is it going to blow up?”

“Probably not,” ni replied as ni opened the door to the room that housed the cryogenic units. The coffin-like chambers were dark, an array of dim lights indicating that they were empty but had power.

Ayess’ race does not have words for he/she/his/hers, etc, because they are (for lack of a better term) hermaphroditic. Their pronouns to refer to other members of their race are “ni” (for he/she/him/her), “ni-es” (his/hers), “ni-en” (they/them) and “ni-en-es” for theirs.

Have you ever just been bopping along, doing your own thing, and suddenly one of your novels (or a character) just walks up and slaps you in the face?

That’s what happened to me earlier today.

I was scrolling through Face Book clicked on a link someone had shared and found this article.

My first thought was of Marsden from The Academy of the Accord because that is soooo something he would do. (If, of course, he was a cop in today’s world, but that’s a minor trifle.)

The part with the hand on the shoulder and “Easy… I’ve got this one, son” is what really made me think of Marsden. That is something he would say and do and the description is spot on too, although he’s not quite that old – at least, not at the start of the series.

So, while it was really cool to come across that, now I want to get back to work on The Academy of the Accord. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but Onyx Sun is still supposed to be on the front burner.

Welcome to Wednesday Words! Every Wednesday I will post some sort of prompt for a flash fiction piece. The prompt will go live just after midnight Eastern time.

The prompt might be a picture, or it might be a list of things to include in a story, or maybe a phrase or a question or something from a “news of the weird” type thing, or a… who knows?

After that, it’s up to you. But if you do use the prompt to write a bit of flash fiction (say, 500 words or so) I’d love to see what you came up with, so comment below with a link to where it is on your blog (or on WattPad or wherever).

(And a pingback to the post here where you found the prompt would be appreciated but isn’t necessary.)

Oh, and this isn’t a contest or anything. It’s just a (hopefully) fun thing for all concerned.

It sure is a slippery beast, isn’t it? It always seems able to get away from me, no matter how hard I try not to let it.

Take today, for instance. I was up by seven o’clock. (Not by choice – Jazzy is a bed and blanket hog.) That should have given me plenty of time to finish the flip book for an exchange, write a letter to go into another one, possibly get a third ready to be mailed, go to the post office, write this blog post, work on Onyx Sun, do my weekend blog hops that I still haven’t started, set up my Sunday Snippet posts for the rest of the month, and do a million other things hovering around the edges of my overstuffed mind.

So how much did I get done in the thirteen hours (as I write this) that I’ve been up?

I put the dogs out about fourteen times. I ate breakfast and lunch. I got the flip book done and mailed it on the way to a local restaurant for supper. And now I’m doing this.

Oh, and I washed some dishes.

Where did time go?

I have no idea.

(Well, other than it’s hard to get any momentum when you’re being interrupted every hour or so by the canine members of the household.)

I’m trying really hard to be more aware of deadlines and upcoming events. Events, especially, have always been hard for me to get a handle on – Christmas, for example, sneaks up on me every single year because I keep thinking I have lots of time. (“Christmas is a month away. That’s lots of time.” “Christmas isn’t for two weeks yet. That’s lots of time.” “I still have a week before Christmas. That’s plenty of time.” And then suddenly it’s Christmas and I’m out of time.)

But anyhow, I really wanted to have Onyx Sun ready for beta readers by the middle of this month and I don’t think it’s going to happen. For one thing, it’s my own deadline, which means that it doesn’t carry as much weight as an externally imposed deadline.

Plus, you know, there’s still a week before the middle of the month. That’s lots of time.

More from Song and Sword, the first novel I published, since I’m working on a sequel and need the motivation. This follows immediately after last week’s snippet.

Continuing from last week.

Dakkas woke to darkness and pain. He moved his head and a wave of nausea nearly made him pass out again. His shoulders ached; he tried to move them to relieve the strain and realized he was bound by his wrists, his arms taking the brunt of his weight, his feet barely touching the ground.

“Good. You’re awake. I wouldn’t want you to miss the entertainment I’ve arranged for you.” The voice sounded familiar but the pounding in his head made it hard to hear anything other than the memory of Rebel’s screams. He forced his eyes to focus but all he could see was a stone table lit by small guttering torches. He glanced up at his wrists: the ropes holding him were attached to rings set into stalactites.

“No! No!” The voice – a woman’s – was a sob of fear and resistance and he turned his head to look for its owner, already knowing…

Two Orcs shoved a struggling figure toward the table, and it was all Dakkas could do not to cry out. Kashrya. His mind screamed her name, but he refused to give the mysterious voice the satisfaction…

“Yes,” the voice purred from behind him as the Orcs tied her in a position similar to his. “Your little lady love. She was the perfect bait.”

Blurb:Pashevel: a simple Elven Bard — and the Crown Prince

Marlia: a Paladin of Arithen, the Elven God of Justice – seeking vengeance for the destruction of her village

Dakkas: heir to the Drow throne — if his father and elder half-brother don’t kill him first

Kashrya: raised among a tribe of nomadic Humans, she is unaware of her true heritage — or of the prophecy that made her mother an outcast

Their goal: build a bridge between the Elves and their outcast brethren, the Drow, reuniting them and undoing the damage caused in a time so far gone that history has become legend and legend has become myth.

But first, they have a problem to solve: how do you stop a war that hasn’t started?

Rainbow Snippets is a group for LGBTQ+ authors, bloggers, and readers to gather once a week and share six sentences from a work of fiction–a WIP or a finished work or even a 6-sentence book recommendation (no spoilers please!). Check out all the other awesome snippets by clicking on the picture above.

Picking up from last week:

“My eyes? You’ve seen them every day since you bought me.”

She shook her head impatiently. “They were… glowing, sort of. Not bright, but just kind of … glowing.”

Ayess started. “You can see that?”

“Yes, why? What does it mean?”

“I’ve never heard of a human being able to see it before. You said this isn’t the first time?”

“That day in the restaurant on Florris Five. What is it, Ayess? What is it that I’m seeing?”

Before ni could answer the power flux alarm went off and as ni turned to the console Taliya got the distinct impression that ni was glad of the distraction.

“The cryo chambers.” Ayess grabbed a small monitoring unit as ni rose and started for the door. “I think I’ve finally found it.”

Ayess’ race does not have words for he/she/his/hers, etc, because they are (for lack of a better term) hermaphroditic. Their pronouns to refer to other members of their race are “ni” (for he/she/him/her), “ni-es” (his/hers), “ni-en” (they/them) and “ni-en-es” for theirs.

It’s time for the Fort Armstrong Folk Festival, which is my favorite local ever. After the last three years of working during it, it’s great to actually be able to go and spend time looking at the crafts and eating good-but-not-good-for-you foods.

And for a change the weather is not going to be so hot and miserable that you feel like you’re going to die.

My roommate and I were down there this evening for supper, and we were chilling with some shaved ice when I started getting that uneasy feeling that a storm was coming. I suggested that we head back to the car and we were home less than fifteen minutes before the storm started.

Yes, I have always had this thing where I can feel storms. Probably something to do with air pressure or electricity or something.

And, yes, I once sort of worked it into a story. A very long time ago and I hadn’t thought about it in ages until tonight. I wonder whatever happened to it? (It was just a start but it had promise.)

I also once, a long time ago (before the storm thing) started a novel about a festival. Well, sort of. The end of the festival was the start of the story. Different festival, though.

So, anyhow, before I got sidetracked by a trip down memory lane…

We had a brief but fairly strong storm come through this afternoon just as I was trying to figure out what to write about. It actually managed to tangle my blinds and now I’m going to have to move the rat cage to fix them.

So, the storm delayed this post, then the festival did, and then another storm, and then my stomach decided to object to something I ate. (I’m blaming the cheese fries.)

Anyhow, it occurred to me that sometimes it’s the little things that find their way into your writing.

“There’s nothing sadder than the end of festival.” (Actually, I’ve worked festivals into other novels. They make great settings.)

Sensing storms approaching.

And now, mild food poisoning.

I’m not entirely sure I want to put that last one into a story but, hey, why not? You never know, and it could be interesting…